Chance and Fate
by Lia79.dreamer
Summary: They met by chance, neither expecting to run into the other so far south of the wall. But they had. He wasn't in a habit of letting woads live, but this time he did. She wasn't going to keep coming back, but she had. Chance or Fate? Maybe they should take a hint before destiny puts her foot down... REVIEW, please. It keeps me trying.
1. 7th year

They first met seven years into Tristan's service in Britain. It wasn't by far the first time he'd run into the blue warriors from beyond the wall, but it was the first time he's stumbled across one so far south. He wasn't scouting, was just riding along the forest, stretching the legs of his warhorse. It had been a quiet month and all Sarmatian Knights were restless; Arthur, sensing the tensions and tempers about to snap, had sent Tristan out riding and set others with various tasks within and just outside the fort.

He had just turned around, ready to head back to the fort, when he sensed more than heard that he had company. Whoever they were, they were quiet moving along the treeline just out of his sight. _Scouts_, Tristan thought retrieving his bow and sword and slinking off into the woods to track down the intruder. The longer he was at it, the more his respect for the woad, and it was undoubtedly a woad, grew. He was yet to catch a glimpse of them, although he heard an occasional sound that told him he was still following them.

He wasn't sure how long the chase continued; he was sure that if he doesn't catch them soon, Arthur would send out search parties for him. With a burst of speed, he overtook the ghostly woad and got a first glimpse of his quarry at a small meadow.

It was a girl, hardly even a woman yet, all bony angles and lean muscle, but he could tell she would be beautiful with some meat on the bones and in a few years' time. Her hair, a peculiar combination of red and brown and blonde, was piled messily on her head, beads and feathers adorning braids throughout, her wide brown eyes watching her surroundings attentively. She was dressed in the usual leather garb with skins, a long knife at her waist and bow and quiver full of arrows on her back. Her skin was smeared with paint, intricate designs etched onto her skin along with markings that signified her station.

In her hands she carried a small bird, barely a month old, if he had to guess, cradling its body protectively.

Not sure what to do, but not wanting to have to kill her, Tristan decidedly stepped on a twig to alert her to his presence. Her eyes snapped to his and she abruptly stopped in her tracks eyeing him warily, noticing his distinctly not roman armour, marks on his face and barely drawn bow.

"What is a woad doing so far south of the wall?" he asked quietly, eyeing her tense stance. She didn't even bother trying to reach for a weapon.

"I would have thought it obvious, scout," she replied tersely. "Well?" she lifted an eyebrow expectantly, jerking her chin up in defiance. "What are you waiting for? Shoot."

"Are you that eager to die?"

She smiled almost amused. "No. But I know the rules. One thing," she slowly stepped to a small tree stump and lowered the little bird onto it. "She needs care. Take her with you, scout. They make for loyal companions."

With that she stepped back and raised her arms slightly as if inviting him to kill her. He stalled, thinking.

"My name is Enid," she suddenly said.

"Makes no difference to me."

She smiled at his curt tone. "Maybe you will bury me. And I for one, like to know the names of people I put in their graves. What is yours, scout?"

"Tristan," he finally replied after a pause. He lifted his bow and let the arrow fly, impressed to see no fear show on her beautiful face. The arrow struck the ground by her foot. "Seems I shot and missed, eh?"

She picked up the arrow and tucked it into her quiver. "I owe you, Tristan. I will not forget it. May your tread stay light and your aim sharp, scout." With that she inclined her head and jogged into the trees, easily disappearing from his sight.

"Enid," he tried the name quietly. He knew they would cross paths again as surely as he knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west. _ Until then_, he thought with amusement and went to retrieve the bird she left behind in his care. It was a falcon chick, recently hatched and obviously hungry as it started screeching loudly as soon as he picked it up. With a grimace, he arranged it in one hand and swiftly headed for his horse intent to leave before the racket attracted someone to his presence.

The trip back to the fort had gone by faster than his ride out. It was possibly due to the many conflicting thoughts he had running through his mind about the woad he'd met and let live and the bird he was now saddled with. The bird quieted down some after he'd fed it some dried meat he'd had tucked away in the saddle bags, but still squeaked almost indignantly every time he jostled it.

He was admitted in and headed straight for the stables, having nothing of much interest to report to Arthur and needing to settle the annoying bird before it drove him mad with its chirping and screeching. The people of the fort parted for him easily some with scared nervousness, others with interest; he'd made it to the stables undisturbed and once inside, looked around for something to make a nest for his feathery companion.

"God gracious, what's that noise?" Tristan stifled a laugh at Jols' exclamation as the man approached him curiously.

"We have a guest, Jols," Tristan showed him the bird he was holding. "Have you something for it?"

"I'll have a look," he hurried to the backroom, puttering around in there, before coming back with an old cooking pot with a small hole in the side. "This should do."

Tristan nodded absently, setting the bird down onto the wall of his warhorse's stall and stuffed some straw into the pot. Deeming it as good as it will get, he hanged the pot on the torch holder near his stall and transferred the bird into its new home.

It was quiet as it shuffled around, investigating its surroundings, before starting to chirp again. Jols and Tristan exchanged a look as the bird's calls grew louder and louder, more demanding before Tristan huffed a curse and found a dead mouse a stable cat had caught. The bird stopped to devour the mouse and once done, it almost curtly dismissed the two by tucking its head under its wing and settling to sleep.

"Well," Jols finally said with amused exasperation. "At least it's quiet now."

"Indeed," Tristan nodded his thanks to the man before heading out of the stables to find Arthur and the rest of the knights.


	2. 8th year

Second time they've met was a year after the first. Tristan wasn't sure whether she took the unspoken warning he'd given her to heart and refrained from coming so far south, or simply learned how to truly stay unseen, but he hadn't seen so much as a shadow of the woad's presence. Whatever she'd been after, she must have gotten it…

It was a mission alike any other he had been on. Ride south east, meet the Roman caravan, and escort it to the wall. Arthur had sent him scouting ahead, through the forest, to ensure they would not get any nasty surprises from the blue devils Bors had 'affectionately' dubbed the woads, or evil ghosts as Dagonet kept grumbling.

It had been quiet at first, as he moved swiftly, hoping to spook the potential ambush into action – after eight years at the wall the Knights and Arthur had garnered a reputation that had their opponents running almost as soon as they sighted them.

So he was not entirely surprised to hear a sharp whistle and then a horn further into the glum of the forest and suddenly the bushes just ahead of him came to life, blue warriors taking flight back into the forests heading north. _Good riddance_, he thought, feeling slight annoyance at their hasty retreat. From the number he had counted, there weren't nearly enough of them to take on both Romans and Knights – hence the retreat, but at the same time he felt as though he was missing something.

"Tristan."

_Ah_. _There we go_.

"Enid," he greeted his acquaintance. Her voice was coming from somewhere above him and he reigned in his warhorse, turning just enough to see her perched on a tree branch, watching him thoughtfully.

"You scared off my scouts," she said blankly, but he rather thought he saw amusement in her stoic features. "I must say, I've never seen them run quite as fast as they did when they sighted you."

"You didn't run with them," he noted, hiding his satisfaction in the fact under disinterest. "Were you waiting to ambush the caravan or us?"

To his surprise Enid laughed. "Neither, Tristan. We are scouts, not true fighters. Although we could have killed off a decent number of soldiers without them even realising where the threat was, we are not enough for an ambush. No. We watch. We listen."

"Why should I take your word for it?" he asked suspiciously, strangling the faint stirrings of intrigue she inspired every time he thought of her.

"You shouldn't. And I know you will continue to see if that truly were the last of us," Enid shrugged her thin shoulders, reaching up to adjust the straps of her quiver. "Here," she retrieved an arrow and spirited down to the ground with alarming ease, offering it to him. "Tell Arthur that you chased us off. We shot and missed." She gave him a small smile, inviting him in on a private joke. "We will head back north beyond the wall and will not trouble you or the caravan, you have my word. We have what we came here for – we saw, we heard."

He took the offered arrow, watching Enid's features lit up as she smiled again, her smile brightening her eyes.

"How is the falcon I left with you doing?" she suddenly asked, taking a cautious step closer to his warhorse, the big grey eyeing her warily.

"She is well. Flying, driving the Romans to distraction with her temper."

"That's the spirit," Enid nodded with glee, "drive them all mad and out of the fortress."

"Was that the plan when you left her with me?" Tristan asked, unable to contain his amusement any longer. It was childish, what they were doing, but it had been so long since something truly brought him joy besides drunken antics of his brothers.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," she schooled her features back into calm stoicism. "Wish her well for me. It is time for me to go; you should continue down the path a little, then turn south – it will take you back to the road faster."

With that she gave him a nod in farewell and melted into the forests without a trace.

Tristan looked over the arrow he was holding, before following Enid's advice and leaving the trails – somehow he'd come to trust her word, if only hers out of all Woads. He wasn't sure when she became something more than just a faceless enemy, but he'd never seen the world in the same shades of black and white some of his brothers did – it wasn't so farfetched that he should be civil with a Woad, since he hated Rome and served her nonetheless.

She spoke the truth in the end; they met the caravan and escorted it back to the wall with no interruption whatsoever. He could tell that some of the knights were almost disappointed with the lack of action this time, but for the first time he was content to do nothing but ride.

He scouted ahead or kept to himself while riding with the others, thinking. Contemplating strange turns of life, alike one that landed him in a land not his own serving an Empire he loathed or trading jokes with an enemy; an enemy that _fascinated_ him. They were alike, Enid and him – both scouted ahead, both were deceptively good in concealing their emotion, they understood each other even despite the fact that they have never really held a full conversation. There was something easy about being in her company, no matter how put out Tristan was about that little revelation. He looked forward to the next time they were going to cross paths, and he was sure they will – the wall was only so long and Enid seemed to stay within particular boundaries with her scouting. Somehow he knew she would be there eventually.


	3. 10th year

The third time they didn't really meet; they simply saw each other in a skirmish. It was quite strange for Tristan to see her fighting as opposed to simply observing from the safety and anonymity of trees. They saluted each other, before promptly turning their back to each other and making sure not to cross their blades. Once the Woads started to retreat, Enid fell back to watch over what was left of the ambush, her bow ready to shoot down anyone who tried to follow. Tristan tersely advised his fellow knights not to – when asked why he simply indicated the archer in the treeline. Before she left, she released the arrow and it struck ground by Tristan's foot.

_Good to see you too, Enid_.

With that she was gone and the Knights stared at the arrow Tristan retrieved.

"What was that?"

Tristan simply shrugged and tucked it away in his quiver. "She is their scout. We've crossed paths before. The little devil evaded me as often as she let me catch up. I shot and missed, she returned the favour."

Arthur and the Knights understood, some after some swearing and grumbling. Despite their perceived savagery, the Woads did have a kind of code of maybe not so much honour, as behaviour in warfare.

"Is that why you both did your honest best to stay out of each other's way?" Dagonet asked in his quiet, but perceptive manner.

"She is no fool. Being caught under my blade is a death sentence for stronger warriors than her," was all Tristan said and the matter was dropped, but Tristan was sure Dagonet had gleaned something in his answer that the others missed. At least one knight now was certain there was more to scout and woad's interactions than what it appeared to be.

It was not the last time he saw her that year.

She would not come close, instead haunting their steps when they rode to fulfil whatever talk Rome set to them; others never even knew she was there, while Tristan was sure there were times she intentionally let him know she was following and times when she could have been, but he didn't know for certain and she didn't see fit to alert him.

She had become so adept at hiding in plain sight and travelling quickly and silently through the forests that her name seemed eerily accurate – she had come a long way from somewhat clumsy by comparison girl he'd met almost three years ago.

Months later they'd met in another skirmish – this time there was no escaping fighting her; it was either he does or another knight will and he was sure another will have no qualms about killing her. Something he found himself strongly disagreeing with.

It was with great reluctance that they both let their swords clash for the first time, testing each other, watching. It was more a spar than a true fight, but she still impressed him with how well she held her own however briefly. It was over quickly and Tristan was somewhat glad to see the back of her when the retreat was called and Enid ducked away from him to sprint after the remnants of her small handful of fighters.

When he turned he met Dagonet's eyes. His brother in arms didn't judge, but Tristan could tell that Dagonet understood more than he let on – he knew exactly what went on in that pseudo fight and despite how many brothers they'd already lost to Woad blades and arrows he was not going to hold that against him. After all, they heartily returned the favour each time Rome pitched them against the natives.

Dagonet gave Tristan a barely perceptible nod and turned to go to his mount, giving no indication that anything was amiss. Tristan shrugged and followed his lead, glad to have the moment forgotten – he really was in no mood to try and explain himself to the others, especially Galahad who hated Woads and Briton with a burning passion that almost measured up to his hatred of Rome.

Tristan found he was rather annoyed at himself for letting his focus slip enough for doubts and deliberations to plague him; he let himself wonder little before, not letting thoughts or opinions form to make the servitude easier and the years fly by faster. Now that fragile shell of self-defence was shattered rather spectacularly by a slip of a girl and an incredibly bossy bird she left him with.

Isolde, he named her and only later realised that this was perhaps a mistake. He hoped that she would leave once she learned to fly and he almost believed she did when she left the stables and soared away towards the woods leaving him in a foul mood for the rest of the day from wishing he was just as free.

But no. Isolde was free and did as she pleased, others be damned. She took to the skies when she wanted and came back to take advantage of safe home and food Tristan offered; yes, she certainly repaid for his hospitality in spades by following him and watching over the knights on all their ventures, being the first to find ambush or game. In time, Isolde became such an integral part of his life that he could not imagine her leaving any longer, never mind wishing for it.

But time never stood still and it was another few months before he caught sight of Enid again. It was the end of the year and the snow had managed to cover the ground; winter was finally upon them and the dreary weather did nothing for any of the knights that usually developed cabin fever rather quickly in the quiet months.

In winter the woads kept to themselves struggling just as much as villagers from the harsh weather and lack of supplies. They barely even showed themselves and any kind of fighting was out of question unless they were desperate for supplies and attacked caravans for provisions; those were far and few between as it were, so knights found themselves with nothing to do most days.

Arthur, being so in tune with them, often knew when tensions ran a little too high and did his best to find them something to occupy their time with – patrols, extra training, visits to outlying villages and anything in between. They even found themselves building extra houses when there was no more space at the fort. What a disaster that had been.

Tristan found himself on another patrol, tracking a deer in the meantime to brighten up their evening with. He was laughably close to the wall, treading the familiar route he knew backwards and could find with his eyes closed when he rather literally ran into Enid.

Both were startled by the sudden appearance of the other and in an unusual show of clumsiness went down to the ground in a tangle of limbs, landing on Enid's bow. The bow miraculously survived but was supremely uncomfortable for lying on, Tristan thought distantly staring up at Enid's wide eyes. They stayed frozen for a few more beats before scrambling to get to their feet and setting themselves to rights.

"Tristan," Enid finally said, breaking the slightly awkward silence. He nodded in answer to the greeting, handing Enid her dropped bow. There was another beat of silence, but it was marginally less awkward than the one before. Tristan stared at the woad scout at his side, wondering about what brought her south of the wall this time – he knew of no caravans that were supposed to be coming to or from the wall and as far as he was concerned there was nothing of any interest to her.

She must have read the question he silently posed. "I'm not scouting. Just hunting. Better game south of the wall." At his imploring look she shrugged morosely. "I killed two rabbits. Pathetic."

She was still wearing the leather garb he was accustomed to seeing her in, associating it with battle gear; how she was not freezing in the snow he didn't know. As if reacting to his thoughts Enid shivered and rubbed her thin arms, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other.

"You will freeze; have you no cloak?" Tristan asked with thinly veiled concern. Enid gave him a small smile and shook herself.

"I have it – left it on the other side. It gets in the way, and I needed to be free to track and full movement capacity in case I ran into trouble on this side," she gave him a pointed look that clearly said _I did find trouble, didn't I?_

He gave her a ghost of a grin in response, whistling for his horse; he came quickly, thundering through the trees and Tristan caught his reigns before retrieving one of the pheasants he'd caught earlier. Enid watched him curiously, keeping remarkably still in the downright freezing wind and gave him a bewildered look when he handed her the bird.

"You need it more than I do, because you are heading back," he told her with no room for argument, not wanting her to linger longer than she absolutely had to; Gawain and Lancelot were coming this way with a patrol in a few hours and he wanted Enid as far away as possible when they got here.

She must have understood the urgency and took the bird without any fight, gifting him with a thankful smile and a gentle touch on his arm. It was strange seeing such kind expressions on a blue tinted face he'd come to associate with deadly animalistic ferocity of a battlefield, but then again Enid had managed to change his thoughts on many things.

He gave her a nod, and waved her away; she lingered for a moment, looking as though she wanted to say something, but thought better of it and with a final look she disappeared into the trees heading straight for the wall to cross to the other side as he told her to.

She glanced back at him once with an unreadable expression he didn't want to analyse too closely for fear of what he might find there. He wasn't sure what showed on his.

This was the last he'd seen of her for a long time.


	4. 15th year of service

It had been years since he last saw Enid and he wasn't sure exactly why it bothered him so much. She'd haunted their steps before, he knew about that; he was sure that there were times she's followed them and he was none the wiser – through the years she'd become so much alike a ghost it was unnerving.

In any case, it bothered him that she had managed to evade his notice for five years; whether through skill or having been killed in one of the numerous skirmishes they'd had with the Woards since the news of Rome's withdrawal started to spread – he rather hoped it was the former, whatever that said about him.

It was the final year of their service and he was eager for the freedom it would afford and equally nervous in the knowledge that he didn't know what he would do once their term was up. He didn't know whether he should go back to Sarmatia despite the fact that there was little he remembered of it and there was likely nothing for him to return to, or stay in the wretched country he'd bled for since his arrival almost 15 years ago. It was a daunting decision and as he listened to the last remaining knights prattle on and dream of returning home and freedom, his mood had been steadily blackening.

It rather didn't help that Enid kept resurfacing in his mind, almost taunting him with his indecision and strange longing he felt for her company. So Arthur bringing them a mission was a welcome distraction; they'd heard of the raiders on the coast before – one village burnt to the ground, other pleading for protection.

They rode out in the early morning to reach the village their last messenger came from, hoping to catch whomever was responsible. He was not surprised to find that they were late – by maybe an hour at the most, but nonetheless.

The village was in shambles. Dead bodies littered the ground and the houses were all ablaze to the point that it was simply foolhardy to even try dosing them.

The knights spread out, half-heartedly looking for survivors but knowing they won't find any. They didn't. The village was raided, anything of value taken, anything else destroyed. The raid itself was strange – there must not have been much loot to take and too much effort to extend for such an excursion. So what were they after?

They headed back empty handed. Galahad had been sent south, Tristan north as far as he dared go. Arthur had been strict in how long he was allowed to be away and if he wasn't back in three days then they would ride out after him.

He took off readily, allowing his trusty warhorse to take off faster than when he rode with others. His falcon had been circling overhead, watching out for him – Enid was right, she did make a loyal companion…

_Damn it_.

Tristan growled curses, as he tried to shake her from his mind and concentrate on the road and the surrounding woods, wary of the woads whose territory he had entered. _ I may have almost befriended one, but that would not stop them from shooting me full of arrows_.

He'd been riding the entire day before cautiously approaching a small cluster of trees that in theory should have been a good resting place. He almost snorted at that thought. It was also ideal for an ambush. Resigned, he dismounted, and led his warhorse into the small clearing, eyeing the forest – was that an arm he'd just seen?

_Damn it all_.

He'd just barely managed to throw himself sideways, avoiding being instantly killed and instead took the arrow in the shoulder – not the best, but that left him still breathing and mobile enough to fight back. Another twang warned him of an arrow and he again evaded it, only just.

Suddenly there was a horn sounding in the distance, a familiar horn – it was the same that had called the retreat of woads numerous times before. He saw a man step into the clearing with a drawn bow, ready to finish him before they went – only to be distracted by the horn again.

There was a terse shout and the man bared his teeth before reluctantly retreating, followed by two others. They disappeared into the forest, leaving Tristan alone. _For the most part_.

"What are you doing north of the wall, you foolish man!" Enid stalked towards him, having materialised at the edge of the clearing without him noticing. Instead of answering her, he inspected the arrow in his shoulder, grimly realising that he wouldn't be doing much of anything, including riding for a while.

Angry grumbling suddenly relocated from the edge of the clearing to right beside him and he glanced up to see Enid expecting the arrow with critical eye. She'd changed in the five years he didn't see her; although taller than the first time they've met, she still came up to barely his shoulder; she had gained a woman's figure in her absence; her hair had tipped further into reddish brown category, tied into a long braid down her back. She was paler, but maybe it was the effect of the light blue paint and darker designs. She'd had a few added, he distantly noted, studying her dark eyes. _Hazel_. She looked up at him and sighed tiredly.

"Sit," she ordered, gesturing to the flattish stone in the middle of the clearing. "Gods only know what would have become of you had I not been tracking Saxons along the coast."

"Saxons?" Tristan alerted instantly at the information.

Enid nodded absently, bringing a small jar out of her pack and fetching his warhorse that had retreated to the trees. After digging around in his saddlebags, she found some bandages Dagonet had stashed there and came back to his perch.

"We've sighted them coming to the coast," she told him, worrying her lip and staring at the arrow. "They come to land, burn and kill, take what they like and leave on ships again."

Without warning, she grabbed the arrow and yanked it out, bracing his shoulders to keep him from moving away. He let out a few curses through clenched teeth and gave the woman a sharp glare; she just chuckled, unlacing his hauberk and pulling it off him to get to the wound. Once she managed to get his tunic out of the way, she took to cleaning the wound and stitching it quickly. Next was the peculiar ointment she had in the jar and bandages, before his tunic was righted carefully and she was back to his horse, retrieving blankets.

Feeling useless, he made to stand and take care of his mount, only to be stopped with Enid's unimpressed stare that rivalled Vanora's. It kept him firmly in place until she tethered his horse to a tree to graze comfortably and relieved it of the saddle, laying out his blanket and cloak on the ground and making sure he laid down on them.

"Stay," she ordered again, with almost as much authority as Arthur, hurrying to the woods once she was sure he would stay put. He sighed heavily, equally annoyed and bewildered, but relaxed. So she was alive, and from what he could see, she was well. She was still slender enough to worry about a gust of wind knocking her over but she was a long shot from the childlike sorry excuse of a girl he'd seen last time. He was right about her growing more beautiful, too.

His thoughts were interrupted by the woman herself returning with an armful of wood and setting up a fire with practiced ease, coaxing it to life once the sparks caught. With another hard look in his direction, she disappeared back into the treeline, leaving him resting by the fire with nothing but his thoughts for company.

Well, that and Isolde.

His falcon had screeched her way into the clearing and if she could talk, he was sure she'd be berating him for his idiocy. He grabbed his glove and extended his hand, inviting her to come and she instantly complied, settling on her perch.

"Where have you been, eh?" he asked quietly, scratching the feathers beneath her head. She stretched her neck, demanding more attention, and let out a small cackle, snapping her beak. He smiled slightly at the affectionate bird and settled in to wait for Enid to return from wherever she'd disappeared to.

It was another hour before the woad reappeared, bringing two rabbits which she promptly skinned and cut. Isolde was instantly distracted by the obvious presence of food and left Tristant's hand to try and get Enid to feed her. The woman glanced at the approaching bird with an amused smile and offered her some meat, feeding her a few more pieces as she carved the rabbits for cooking.

Tristan watched Enid intently as she skewered the meat with some sticks and settled by the fire to roast the food. She stayed silent, resolutely ignoring the man watching her closely and concentrating on the food she was trying to prepare. He had questions, but was loath to disturb the silence they were both so comfortable in; it had been a while since the last time he was relatively content and that had almost certainly to do with the woman that was poking at the meat experimentally.

He must have been completely lost in thought, contemplating her and life, because Enid's sudden movements rather startled him. She came over to him, handing him his share of food and packing the rest for later. He went to talk, but she simply shook her head.

"We are both weary and you are wounded. Eat. Then we both rest. We will speak tomorrow – you have to let the wound at least start healing before you ride back, so we will have a day before I am also due to leave," with that Enid stared him down until he started eating, going back to her food with an air of immense satisfaction about her. He chuckled. It was good to have her back.


	5. Respite

**First of all, thank you very much for reviews, ****Guest and ****Persephone Targaryen****! ****Your kind words had given me the push I needed to keep writing! I hope to continue to live up to your praise and that you will enjoy the story.**

**Thank you,**

**Lia**

Tristan woke to smell of food and quiet shuffling.

Knowing who was likely puttering around the little camp, Tristan didn't bother showing any signs of wakefulness and simply listened to the sounds of the forest, his warhorse and another human being close to him. It was deceptively peaceful in the clearing, alike a small removed safe haven in the turbulent nightmare of his life.

But like all good things it came to an end far too quickly.

"I know you are awake."

He opened his eyes to find Enid sitting cross-legged on the stone he laid next to, staring down at him with an expectant expression. Despite the fact that he was the one needing the information he still was loath to disturb the peace and so just gave her an unimpressed look for her trouble.

The woman grinned down at him and waited.

_Curses_.

He sat up stiffly, turned, mirroring her pose, and waited for her to start. Instead of talking, Enid studied him thoughtfully as if he was the most fascinating thing she ever encountered. And to the two of them they probably were; alien and fascinating and _an enemy_.

And yet… and yet. Yet here they were, after nine years of acquaintance and strange refusal to kill the other, consequences be damned. They had gone far beyond the simple 'shot and missed' stage, when he didn't know, but he'd given her his game in winter to keep her from going hungry and she'd treated his wound, saved his life when she'd ordered the men to retreat and leave him be. Impossibly, foolishly, they _cared_ and it was probably the biggest mistake either of them made and by the looks of things will happily continue to make.

Besides, his service to Rome was almost done; he'd be a free man soon and then Enid won't really be an enemy, would she? So where was the harm? And then, when he was free and good to go wherever he pleased, would he really stay on this accursed island or follow his brothers back to the land all of them dreamt of because fifteen years of brotherhood are not so easily forgotten? He had no answer for any of the questions that plagued him and all that indecision and uncertainty was making him itch to kill something, so he took the only out he had and tried to distract himself.

"Tell me of the Saxons." Not the question he wanted to ask, but the rest of them could wait.

Enid shrugged. "Not much to tell. There is only ever one ship landing at a time, but I know there is greater force that has yet to show itself. Small raids are far too profitless and costly, so my guess is that they are waiting to invade. Why? I am uncertain. But they will be here soon. Tell me of the Romans?"

Tristan had to smile at that. "Not much to tell." Enid continued to look at him expectantly and he caved. "They are leaving. Soon, likely before Saxons invade. If I have to guess – I'd say when our service is done if not sooner."

Enid nodded, thinking his words through. "You are almost done, are you not?" she asked quietly, fidgeting with a leather cord on her breeches, as she avoided looking at him. "When you are, will you go?"

Tristan stayed silent. He had no answer for her, but hearing the ill hidden strain in her voice and seeing her dejected appearance he wanted nothing more than to assure her that he will still be here when all is done and over with; not wanting to find out precisely why he felt this way, he tried to cover it all with indifference he was so adept at projecting and gave a noncommittal sound. Enid still avoided looking at him, instead staring off into the trees and they lapsed into silence, but unlike other quiet moments they shared this one was far from comfortable. It was tense and with such heavy air of oppression, it almost rivalled the atmosphere at the fort when high ranking Romans were strutting about staring down at Sarmatians and Britons with contempt.

"Why?"

Enid looked at him at that, her eyes wide with surprise. She opened her mouth to answer and stopped with a frown, as if herself unsure of what the answer was or what she wanted to hear from him in the first place. They were both dancing around that big unidentified _something_, that was just waiting to be acknowledged, and he knew it and she knew it, but both seemed reluctant to breach the thin barrier they still maintained in their interactions for fear that once they do they may never go back.

For now they were both choosing safe contentment that came from not getting too close and personal, from keeping their lives decidedly separate from each other and only ever acknowledging what happened in the moment. He knew nothing about her beyond what little he'd observed and he was certain she knew nothing but what she'd seen when following the knights on their missions. It was an unspoken pact that when they meet, they are not Sarmatian Knight in service of Rome and Woad Scout, but simply Tristan and Enid, two people who find comfort and understanding in each other and enjoy simple things in peace and quiet. Just two lonely souls who chose to be alone together.

But they could not exist in limbo forever and someone was going to have to take the plunge.

That didn't mean that they had to decide anything yet, though, and maybe they could distract themselves with something unrelated and trivial for a little while longer. Arthur wanted a report on Saxons after all, and not on confusing and entirely too dangerous musing on an enemy Tristan found himself positively entranced with. He almost growled, angry with himself – what happened to not examining all this mess too closely?

Enid seemed to have had it with the oppressive silence and stood jerkily, retreating to the fire pit to poke at the embers. The fire was dying and Tristan knew she would go to find firewood soon if he didn't say something, but didn't know what to say to her; wasn't sure he wanted her to stay. _Scratch that_, he wanted her to stay, that he knew now for certain, with her being constantly on his mind when she was out of sight and increasing so even when she was right in front of him; what drove him mad was his inability to articulate what he wanted once she was there to stay.

Needing at least some clarity in his quickly spiralling out of control world, Tristan found himself asking, "If I stay, would it change anything? Or will I still be an enemy?"

Enid stilled by the fire, thinking about her response carefully. Finally she spoke with quiet certainty that Tristan envied, "Rome is my enemy, Tristan. Not you. Not your brothers. Not your commander." She paused momentarily, before turning to look at him again with her dark unfathomable eyes that suddenly seemed as though they had seen too many things. Enid herself appeared older, world weary. "I would have thought that you realised that you are far from an enemy by now."

And he did. He just didn't know what to make of it. Here they were, two people that were stranded on the opposing sides of the war that had begun long before either of them walked this earth and the instinct to fight was far too deeply ingrained in both of them to simply ignore. It was easier to pretend that this was just temporary, something borne out of convenience and circumstance and easily abandoned; but what they had become had evolved so thoroughly since that first encounter that trying to erase it now was impossible. They changed each other, for better or for worse remained to be seen, but there was no denying it and no going back.

That plunge he thought of before? They may as well have already taken it, for they were in too deep to try and regain the neutrality of the first two years of their acquaintance.

Tristan met Enid's eyes and saw understanding and a bit of resignation in them. They stared at each other a little longer before Enid gave him a small smile and suddenly the silence was peaceful once again, both content to let themselves just be while they could. Enid finally revealed the food, the smell of which woke him in the morning, and handed him his share quietly, making herself comfortable on the blankets next to him.

"Tell me of your home?" she asked with hopeful naivety that made her so endearing despite the fearsome edge the blue tint of her skin and darker markings gave her. And again he found that he could not deny her, not that he particularly wanted to since they came to an understanding earlier.

"If you tell me of yours."

Enid smiled.

The plunges was taken and the bridges crossed and burning. There was no going back, but the uncertain future didn't seem so daunting anymore as the two scouts shared memories of good and bad in the small clearing.

This one mistake was turning out to be quite the best one he made in his life, Tristan thought as he watched Enid talk animatedly about her dream of travelling to far lands and freedom that were so alike his own. _Not bad at all_.


	6. Anticipating Freedom

It had been a trying year, all things considered.

After the run in with the woads north of the wall and a little heart-to-heart he had with Enid, Tristan returned to the wall almost a different man. It was as if he finally settled and whatever the future brought him he would take it in stride; whether he stayed or left Briton, he knew he won't be alone at all and the decision stopped plaguing him so much since there now was no right or wrong answer.

After sharing as much about themselves as they could in a day, Enid and Tristan had spent the evening quietly, enjoying the company before they had to abandon their haven and face reality again. And when the morning came, they both took just that little bit too long packing and eating and drawing away the inevitable moment of separation as much as they could. It was laughable and pathetic, and neither would admit to doing it, but both knew they were and before too long they were saying their goodbyes.

"I don't know when I will see you again," Enid suddenly said with a sad sigh. At Tristan's sharp look she elaborated quieter, "I will be tracking Saxons, watching for the landing. Merlin might not send me to the wall before your service to Rome is over and then…who knows."

The unspoken _one of us might not live to see another sunrise_ hang in the air between them, keeping them rooted to the spot and even more reluctant to leave the other behind. On impulse, Tristan blurted out something he promptly regretted, "Come with me. When I am free, come with me."

Enid studied him, her face turning solemn and he felt his insides plummet, thinking he already knew the answer in a slightly bitter smile that appeared on Enid's lips.

"I would. But I cannot abandon my home and my people when Saxons are threatening to invade. They will need me, Tristan." He nodded, suddenly finding the ground incredibly interesting, but Enid it seemed wasn't done talking. "And if such day comes that we defeat the Saxons and Rome finally leaves our land," she stepped close to him, almost touching and tipped his head up to look her in the eyes – bright, shining eyes full of hope and wonder, "then I will follow you. To Sarmatia. Anywhere we would want to go. See the world." She smiled dreamily, her cool hand lingering on his face, caressing the marks on his cheekbones and wreaking havoc on his carefully composed demeanour; he dimply noted that he'd never been quite this impulsive in his life when he once again threw caution to the wind and did another thing he thought he was going to regret, unsure of whether he would regret more if he in fact did not follow through – he kissed her.

It was stupid and too fast and something else that was supposed to be said about it, but then Enid kissed him back and he stopped thinking altogether, too lost in the sudden whirlwind of emotions. It was as if a dam had burst, a carefully constructed barrier that he'd kept up for years and every single thing he'd repressed and written off, tucked away behind that wall was suddenly there in the open and he just could not take it all at once. He didn't know which one of them first closed what was left of space between them or deepened the kiss or how exactly they managed to relocate from the middle of the clearing to a tree at the edge of it, but when the need to breathe finally wrenched them apart he discovered that Enid's legs were wrapped around his waist and he was pressing her into the tree behind her, his arm around her back somewhat protecting her bare skin from the rough bark.

They stayed still, both breathing heavily and staring at each other in bewilderment but underneath that was the same contentment that they'd always shared. He studied Enid's flushed face, lips swollen and eyes glazed over, looking for any sign of discontent; there was none – in fact the woman smiled softly and pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around his neck. It was an embrace he happily returned and the best goodbye he'd ever experienced.

It wasn't long after that they'd shared another kiss, this one slow and tentative and gentle – a silent promise of things to come – and then he was riding away back towards the wall, while Enid disappeared into the forests to head further north and if his brothers gave him strange worried looks when he returned with an arrow wound and a barely concealed smile tugging at his mouth, well, then he'd just have to keep his peace and deal with it.

Enid was right in her prediction that Merlin would not send her to the wall, instead keeping her trailing the Saxons – Tristan saw no sign of her presence, and while somewhat disappointed by that, it also put his mind at ease when the skirmishes with woads became more and more savage and frequent and he didn't need to watch each face in fear that one of them will be his little scout.

It was strange how quickly he became possessive of her, now that he'd finally acknowledged that she was becoming more and more important to him; at the same time, it was easy and he did it without noticing exactly when she became _his_.

The months flew by in a blur and all too soon Arthur was bringing news of a Roman Bishop heading to Briton with their discharge papers; they were to leave the wall to escort him to the fort safely and the knights were anxious to go and find the man – if needed be, drag him all the way to the wall on their own horses, just to bring the freedom to them that little bit faster.

Arthur was amused by their impatience, but he was looking forward to the end of their service just as much as his knights; even Tristan found himself restless a few days before they were due to ride out and Arthur sent him ahead to scout with a wave of his hand and a small barely hidden mirthful smile. Tristan scarcely noticed, he was in such a rush to get out of the fort.

Once outside the fort, he slowed down, taking his time riding – he wasn't expected back until the next day and some peace and quiet would do him good. His thoughts predictably strayed right back to Enid as soon as he stopped concentrating on the road and his surroundings so thoroughly, wondering about where she was. _She's turned me into a fretting woman_, he thought with fond irritation, whistling for Isolde. The falcon gave a sharp cry and promptly ignored him, circling overhead until he waved her off with exasperation; Isolde happily swooped down to pass right over his head and headed off into the forest to hunt, leaving him to contemplate just how had he managed to become so thoroughly entangled with two wild creatures on his hands – neither Enid nor Isolde much tolerated any kind of confinement and he belatedly realised that all he could do at this point was soldier on and go along with it.

Equally amused and frustrated at the turn his thoughts had taken, he decidedly kicked his horse into gallop and continued along the path, shaking away any distraction to concentrate on scouting and returning to Arthur with at least something to report.

Freedom was calling after all.


	7. North of the Wall

**Hello readers,**

**I apologise for the long wait - life got in the way and I just managed to scrap up some few minutes to sit down and write something. This may not be as great as what I've written before, but I hope you will read and leave your comments anyway; feedback helps me improve and write better.**

**I'd been wanting to ask your oponion on the continuation of the story - while I have a rough idea of what I want to see happen, I was wondering on what people thought on whether Dagonet, Lancelot and Tristan should live or should this go ahead as intended. I don't particularly want to make this a tragedy, so I will gladly try to save them. I just wanted to know whether you consider this to be an interference with characters themselves. In my eyes, all three of them ****_chose_**** to die and I don't want to mess them up by taking away their choice. Just tell me your thoughts, please :)**

**I also wanted to thank people who left he lovely reviews on this work: Guests, Persephone Targaryen, ****Xtravagent,****Rachel, smock12 and BlackWiltedRose. Thank you for your kind words and support. I hope I won't disappoint you.**

Tristan had never wanted to murder a Roman quite this much in his life.

No matter the slights against him or his people, he never was quite that outright hostile to any particular Roman, even coming close to liking one or two; this time however, he was sure he'd reached some sort of metaphorical end of the line and his patience was rather none-existent.

Not only had the bastard the nerve to send them off on a suicide mission with no consideration for the fact that they were supposed to be _free_ and not riding to their deaths, he had the guts to hoist his bootlicker of a secretary on them.

_Secretary_, Tristan scoffed as he rode in the middle of the column as they headed out of the fort and north of the wall. He was supposed to take point soon – he was the only one to have come back from going far north of the wall and knew marginally more about the situation than any other present. _More like ass kissing slave_. He paused, then shook his head, sending his braids flying and irritating him further. It was a bad sign indeed when he began sounding like Bors. Very bad sign.

He was more than ready for the ambush, knowing for a fact that woads would be on their trail as soon as they cleared the wall – the scouts they had were no Enid, but they were good enough and they had the benefit of knowing the land. What did surprise him was that the ambush left them unharmed and almost without a fuss. He pondered that as he lowered his bow and kept a few arrows at the ready anyway, thinking of the last time an ambush had left him alive this side of the wall.

"Arthur."

All the knights were instantly alert and pointing their weapons threateningly at the only woad in sight. The familiar slight figure leaning on a bow in the middle of the path would have been a welcome sight had the circumstances been different – as it was Tristan wasn't sure what to do with himself and he hated the uncertainty.

"Greetings, Arthur and Knights of the Great Wall," Enid said calmly, ignoring the abundance of sharp and deadly pointed her way. "I am Enid. Picti Scout. Merlin doesn't want you dead. I am to see you return back to the Wall alive and as well as I can. I will follow you until you are back to your fort."

"You mean to say," Gawain said sceptically, eyeing the tiny woman with distrust, "that Merlin ordered you to help us? Your enemy?"

"Rome is my enemy," Enid said patiently, "not Arthur. Not Sarmatian Knights."

"And what about all the knights that were killed?" Lancelot hissed, staring Enid down with a frown. The woman met his gaze squarely, showing no fear.

"What about all the men and women that you killed?" she countered calmly.

"And you expect me to believe that you will just set fifteen years of bloodshed aside?"

"Are you Roman?" Enid suddenly asked, showing a barely perceptible sign of impatience. Lancelot gaped at her for a moment before sharply shaking his head. Enid nodded. "Then I have no quarrel with you." To her that was that and she turned back to Arthur, her eyes skimming over the knights and lingering on Tristan momentarily. He gave her a ghost of a grin and a small nod, content to see her eyes brighten in response before she was back to watching Arthur as if there was no interruption.

"You said you will follow us," Arthur stated calmly, trying to regain neutrality. Enid inclined her head.

"Whether you will accept my presence or not matters little," she shrugged her shoulders and fitted her bow back in her quiver. "Merlin does not want you dead and neither do I. I respect you, Arthur, and your knights. I am simply here to make sure you return to the wall safely. For now, that's all you need to know."

"What about the Saxons?" Galahad asked tersely.

Enid turned to look at him, contemplating him for a moment. "What of them?"

Galahad just stared at her and Tristan had to admit he was curious, too. Enid must have noticed his inquisitive stare and so obliged with a glimpse of what she knew. "They invade from further north. Many thousands," at that Enid shuddered. "I watched them land, but was called back to follow you. I will defend you against the Saxons if needed be." She lifted her hand stopping any further questions. "Keep it for later. I can lead you through the forest quicker; when you make camp we can talk more. Time is short and Saxons will not wait for us."

With that Enid fell silent and it was obvious she will say no more. Arthur glanced behind him, meeting the gaze of each knight in turn. Tristan was the first to give a nod, indicating his acceptance of Enid's presence, followed by Dagonet. The rest of the knights finally agreed, grumbling and cursing. Enid seemed entirely unconcerned by the tentative at best acceptance and simply waved for them to follow, striding to a bush by the spiky ropes and pulling the branches away to reveal a trail just wide enough for a horse to walk through.

"Ride slowly – the space is narrow for it is a walking path not meant for horses," Enid warned when Arthur steered his mount towards the trail. "Just follow the trail until it splits in three. Take the far right and wait for me in the small clearing. You will be safe to camp there." Enid stepped away further, holding the branches back for the knights to pass through. Tristan was last and stopped his warhorse to wait for Enid to conceal the path carefully again before offering her a hand. She gave him a small smile and let him pull her up behind him. They were somewhat behind the knights and out of immediate earshot, so Tristan took the opportunity to enquire Enid of her wellbeing and anything else she was willing to share.

"I am well," she rested her head on his back, her arms hugging him to her. "I cannot imagine the same of you, though. Why are you here when you are supposed to be free?"

Tristan stayed silent for a few beats, wrestling down his anger for Romans; Enid sensed his irritation and stayed quiet, a warm comforting presence pressed to his back. Finally he answered her, "Romans broke their word. We will be discharged when we return from this final task."

Enid didn't ask anything else, just pressed closer and hummed quietly as he rode after his brothers. Just before they entered the clearing she mentioned, she finally spoke again. "It is mad, but…" he glanced over his shoulder to see her smiling shyly at him. "I'm glad to see you."

Tristan gave her another faint grin, feeling foolish at how easily she'd made him smile and how often and dismounted, helping her off the horse, his hands lingering on her skin a little longer than necessary.

She smiled at him momentarily, her expression becoming guarded once more as soon as she turned to face his fellow knights. Arthur and the rest were just dismounting and waiting for Enid it would seem to further explain herself before they would follow her.

"Peace," Enid smiled slightly, her amusement at their wariness obvious. "Merlin has ordered that you pass through our land unharmed. No Picti will defy him. You can rest safely here. I will bring you firewood and game." At their skeptical stares she huffed. "I know the land better than you. I will be quicker. Camp."

Done giving out orders, Enid turned on her heel and melted into the trees grumbling something in her native language under her breath. Tristan hid his mirth, pretending to be busy with his trusty mount until he was sure the others won't see the truth of his and Enid's closeness before he wanted them to know – it was Enid's decision, too, and out of the two of them she'd get the shorter end of the stick being a woad.

"Is that the scout you'd been running into?"

Tristan glanced up to see Dagonet giving him a thorough look. Not seeing a reason to lie to him, Tristan inclined his head, admitting that if nothing else; of course, Dagonet saw right through him.

"You trust her, then?"

"I trust her word," Tristan told him quietly, knowing that he would understand that yes, while there was more to it than that, now was not the time or place to speak of it. "She'd never given me reason not to."

"She treated that wound few weeks back."

It was a statement, not a question, and so Tristan did not answer, choosing instead to unsaddle his horse and prepare for his first watch considering the conversation done. Dagonet left him be, knowing him well enough to understand his silence as well as his short words, following his example and setting up camp while they waited for their unexpected ally to return.


End file.
